Black Lagoon: Seeds of Revenge
by Toasterman
Summary: A fic centered on Revy's quest for vengence amid the explosiveness of 1990s Somalia.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: This is the beginning of a fic for one of the greatest and most underrated shows of all time. I don't want to say much about what's happened, or what's going to happen for that matter. But I would like your thoughts, so if you read this story, please drop in a review just to let me know what you thought. I know this chapter's not that long, but I don't do epics. Short, sweet and fun is the motto here. And now for the single greatest character ever created by man...

**Black Lagoon: Seeds of Revenge**

**Chapter 1: Arrival**

Revy reached out and caught the line before bending down and securing it to a deck cleat. She trotted to the rear of the torpedo boat _Black Lagoon_, the stock of the AK47 on her back thumping against her butt as she did so. Once there, she looked to the Somalian standing on the dock.

"Well, toss me the rope," she barked, holding out her gloved hand.

The man tossed her another rope and she tied it down as well, muttering about his incompetence while she worked. The warm African sun beat down upon her back and she could feel the heat, especially beneath the magnifying force of her black tank top. With the boat successfully tied up, she headed back down into the cabin. Striding over to the captain's chair, she sat down and did a once-over of the controls, making sure everything was tip-top. Then she picked up her duffel back up from the floor next to the chair and stood to leave.

She caught a series of magazine cutouts on the bulkhead next to her as she did so, pictures of women that Dutch had taped there what seemed like a lifetime ago. Revy had often wondered why she kept them up now that he was gone. She was sure it wasn't to keep something to remember him by, as she would never forget the man. Maybe it was because she could never imagine the old boat without them. Either way, she had no intention of ever taking them down.

She climbed back out of the cabin and locked the door behind her before throwing her duffel to the dockhand on the pier next to the boat. Her boots hit the wood of the dock and she ripped the bag back out of the man's hands, slinging it over the shoulder not occupied by the AK's barrel.

RING! RING! RING!

Revy reached into her pocket and pulled out her cellular phone. She extended the antennae with her teeth and punched the green answer button. "Lagoon Company, whadda ya want?" she greeted whoever was on the other line.

"So blunt, Two Hands?" said the Russian voice on the other end, "Okajima always offered better customer service."

"Well, sis, do you see me wearing a fucking suit and tie?" Revy snapped, "I talk fast, work fast and conduct business fast, so spit it the fuck out before I hang up."

"Very well," Balalika sighed, "There is a shipment of weapons we need moved. Discretely. It would pay handsomely if you could-"

"Sorry to disappoint, but I'm in fucking Africa. Get someone else to run your guns until I get back," Revy said, swatting a fly that had landed on her neck as she walked.

There was a significant pause on the other end. Finally, Balalika continued. "I had heard the rumors, but I didn't think you actually had gone after him."

"Believe it now mother fucker," Revy said, "I got shit to take care of. Nice talkin' to ya, Balalika."

"Good luck, Two Hands," Balalika replied truthfully.

Revy collapsed the antennae against her chest and stuffed the phone back into her rear pocket just as she elbowed her way into the port head office. Despite its overly lavish name, the office was really just a dingy shack with a wooden counter, table off in one corner keeping company with an out-of-order pop machine and a slowly turning ceiling fan that looked to have gone through a long, hard life.

Only three people were in the building. One was behind the counter, looking as excited as a corpse. The other two sat at the table in the corner, dressed in military fatigues that Revy recognized as the local regime's typical uniform. Each man had a Kalesnikov slung over the chair he was sitting in, and the man behind the counter wore a pistol on his hip.

Automatically, Revy's mind calculated that she could dispatch all three of them in a matter of seconds with a total of four to five shots from her dual 9mm Cutlasses. Failing that, she had the Russian assault rifle on her back that could assist if needed.

"Hey, you dead or just sleepin'?" she asked the desk attendant.

"What's it fucking matter?" the man countered, obviously unhappy with his entire existence as a whole.

"My boat's docked out there," Revy said, jerking a thumb out the dirty front window to where the _Lagoon _was tied up, "How much to store it there for a couple of weeks?"

"Let me get the forms," the man said, turning to rummage through a file cabinet.

Revy coaxed a cigarette out of it pack and lit it, taking a puff before noticing the two men in the corner standing up and pulling their weapons over their shoulders. They moved toward her, not threateningly, but still cautious and ready to fight if need be. The taller of the two men leaned against the counter next to her.

"That your boat out there?" he asked, nodding to the World War II-era torpedo boat.

Revy nodded. "Yeah and what's it to you?" she asked.

"Not much," he said with a shrug, "Just that the Jackal's put out a price for a woman with a boat like that. A woman with your description, straight down to the clothes you're wearing."

Revy said nothing, instead snapping back the hammer on one of her pistols and gripping it casually with her hand.

"Thought you were her," the soldier said with a smile, "We are not the Jackal's stooges, but we are interested in bringing him down."

"You clothes are local military, the Jackal's in charge of the local military. What gives?" Revy asked, suspicious.

This time the second soldier spoke up. "We're revolutionaries," he said, "Undercover."

"So what we're wondering," the first soldier said, "Was what you've got against the Jackal."

Revy put out her cigarette on the counter in front of her, not taking the cautious hand off her pistol's hilt. "None of your fucking business."

"Yes, I see. My name is Siad Egal, and my partner's name is Jama Barre. If you ever need any help, or need a place to stay, just seek us out. Check in at the bar downtown, we'll probably be around there."

Siad and Jama headed out of the building, and after a moment Revy heard a jeep start up and tear out of the parking lot. The man behind the counter turned back around and set a pad of forms up on the hard wood next to where Revy had put out her cigarette.

"The total for two weeks storage comes to 1500 dollars. Sign here please," he said, indicating a line and handing Revy a pin.

She took out her wallet to pay it all in advance when a rocket hit the front of the building.


	2. Chapter 2

**Black Lagoon: Seeds of Revenge**

**Chapter 2: 'Professionals'**

As the wood boards that made up the front of the office exploded inward, splintering across the area like a shotgun blast, Revy slid over the countertop on her side and landed behind it, prone against the dusty floorboards. The smoke cleared after thirty seconds, and Revy could see the desk attendant retreating into a back storeroom.

"Chicken shit," the female gunslinger spat, setting the AK47 on the floor next to her.

She pulled her Cutlasses from their holsters and thumbed off the safeties. Boots rang hollow against the floor as a group of men entered the building in a sloppy, unprofessional formation. Revy reasoned that they weren't soldiers, as soldiers would have at least advanced slower, with evenly spaced movements.

Judging by the greed in these particular steps, she figured they were mercenaries and shitty ones at that.

"Where'd the fucking bitch go?"

"I don't know!"

"Nice job with the rocket there, dumb ass!"

"She's probably behind the bar!"

"Kill her! Kill her!"

Revy heard an assortment of weapons being loaded and didn't wait for them to shoot first. She launched herself up into the air, planted her feet firmly on the counter, and slammed three shots into the nearest merc's chest. The man let out a yell and fell backward, his finger tightening on the trigger of his M16 and sending 5.56mm bullets into the ceiling.

Revy aimed and put a round into the ceiling fan, dropping it on the top of another mercenary and knocking him out cold. The remaining seven men took aim and fired. Revy ran across the countertop, her opponents' bullets smacking harmlessly into wall behind her. She abruptly changed course, jumping onto a merc and riding him into the floor.

His back hit, soon followed by his head as a 9mm bullet forced it violently backward. Blood and brain splashed across the wood behind the merc, while his killer turned to his six comrades.

"How the fuck!?"

"Who cares! Rip the bitch apart!"

Revy jumped right through the center of their ragtag firing line, bullets slashing through the air just inches from her head, and landed behind them on her back. She worked her shots outside in, so that the final target was hit by six shots, all jerking him around until he fell face first onto the small break table, flipping it over and on top of him.

On merc stayed standing, despite three slugs in his gut, and as Revy stood up from the floor she looked over at him. "You can die now," she said, smiling a humorless smile.

The man merely nodded and fell over, bleeding from his wounds.

Revy gripped both her Cutlasses in one hand, releasing their magazines at the same time and replacing them with the two full ones. She gripped both the slides at the same time and cycled a shot into each chamber. Holstering one, she walked over to the unconscious merc who'd been knocked out by the ceiling fan.

"Wake up asshole!" she hissed, picking him up from the floor and slamming him up against the pop machine.

"Huh, wha-" the merc said, coming around.

Revy pressed her Cutlass's barrel to his forehead.

"No, no, no! Please don't kill me!" he pleaded upon realizing what was going on.

"That's some damn good begging," Revy admitted, "Your tone of voice almost makes me feel compassion for you. Be honest, fuck head, how many times have you had to beg like this?"

The merc looked confused. "I-I-I-"

Revy sighed. "Never mind. What contractor are you with?"

"N-n-none! I'm freelance!" he squealed.

"So how much is the Jackal paying you?" she asked.

"If I tell you will you let me go?"

Revy pressed the Cutlass deeper into his skin, electing a yelp out of him.

"Uh, twenty grand," he said, "Cash."

"Thanks," Revy said.

She squeezed the trigger, blasting the round through his skull and into the pop machine behind him. The bullet must have hit something, because after a few bangs against the internal running boards, a Dr. Pepper landed in the dispenser. Revy pushed the corpse aside, letting it slump to the ground, and kneeled down to retrieve the pop.

With a laugh, she opened the can and took a sip, finding it refreshingly cold. There was a noise from behind her and Revy whipped around, leveling her Cutlass at the attendant who had just emerged from his hiding spot.

"Do you still want to store your boat here?" he asked, looking nervously at the dead mercenaries dotting the floor of his office.

Revy lowered her weapon. "Yep. How much was that again?"

"Fifteen hundred," he said, then took another look at the corpses, "But after that, I'll knock it down a bit."


End file.
